


Ladylike

by gallantrejoinder



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Dialogue Heavy, F/F, Like ... really weird and meta, Meta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 17:14:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18595795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallantrejoinder/pseuds/gallantrejoinder
Summary: “Sometimes,” Miss Jopson says to her, one day, “I wonder what I might have been like if I were a man.”Everything is different.Some things are the same.





	Ladylike

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dancains](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancains/gifts).



> This is very meta fiction. I leave the respective identities of Miss Jopson and Miss Little up to you.
> 
> [Inspo.](https://draculas-gay-daughter.tumblr.com/post/184406797988/zeehasablog-les-modes-parisiennes-fashion/)

“Sometimes,” Miss Jopson says to her, one day, “I wonder what I might have been like if I were a man.”

The thought strikes Miss Little, too quick and far too keen. A razer-edged thought, a striking slip of the knife. Miss Jopson, a man.

“Whatever do you mean by that?” Miss Little says, softly. It is easy to pretend at disinterest. Miss Jopson: a man. A _gentle_ man, a gentleman.

“I suppose I just wonder at it,” Miss Jopson says, shaking her head. There’s a rueful smile at the corner of her mouth. “How different might be? – How different might my life be – how … how wide, the world?”

“Could the world change its shape for a Mister Jopson?”

Oh, _mister_. Mister Jopson. Jopson, a youth of …

“Oh no, it’s not that. Only, if I were a man, I wouldn’t have to mend clothes all day, or fetch and carry, or do chores … I like to think I should have been a sailor.”

“A sailor?”

“Yes. Do you not think I would make quite the dashing young seaman?”

Abruptly, the thought makes Miss Little laugh. It is not a pleasant laugh, though, for it is tinged with madness. An unsettling, peculiar feeling, laced through with shame and excitement races through her when she pictures Miss Jopson in a sailor’s uniform.

“Well, it is silly, as I said. Still. I think on it oftener than I ought to.”

“I do not think I should like to be a man.” The words surprise Miss Little, even as they come from her mouth. She has never before considered the possibility, but now … “I would be … I would be so frightened, all the time. I could never be a man.”

“Ah, but that’s the trick of it, Miss Little,” Miss Jopson says, with a gentle smile. “If you were a man, you would not be so afraid. The world is built for men. Whatever fears we women have, they are doubled by our sex. It isn’t so for men.”

“Perhaps,” Miss Little doubts. Her fears are … difficult to define. She does not think they are merely the product of her sex. Not when she has known such brave women. Not when she knows Miss Jopson.

“Of course, then, men are so … cold with one another. That I do not think I should like. If I were a man – why, I could never take your hand, Miss Little. And if you were a man _too_ , then it would be quite unthinkable. You know how they speak about such men.”

Miss Little does know. At least, she knows that things _are_ said about such men. But she does not know _what_ those things are. She pauses before dredging up the courage to ask. Miss Jopson continues sewing, unaware.

“How … How do they speak?”

Miss Jopson slows, pulling the thread through the fabric with deliberate care.

“They … they say such men do unnatural things.”

“I – have heard it said,” Miss Little hedges, “but I must admit, I do not understand what is meant by it.”

“That is probably because such things are left better unsaid.”

“Oh.”

“No – do not be ashamed – it is only – I scarcely know how to explain it. In truth I can hardly hold credence with the very idea.”

“If I ought not to ask – if it is too distressing –”

“It is not.”

Miss Jopson takes a deep breath to steady herself. Miss Little watches carefully, hands folded in her lap.

“They say that a man who holds an overabundance of affection for his fellow – who, perhaps, acts in too friendly a manner, and … who is … in too feminine a humour … They say that he will lie with a fellow as easily as a woman.”

Miss Little holds the idea in her head carefully, like an egg she must not drop, for fear of spoiling her meal.

As easily as a woman. But –

“How?”

Miss Jopson tilts her head, perplexed. “How?”

“It – surely such a thing could not actually be _done_.”

Miss Little feels her face becoming inflamed. She understands the mechanics of what occurs between men and women. But men do not have the … prerequisites required.

“Well … I have only heard tale of it. But it can be. I believe it has, by sinners of the worst sort. Using … other parts. So they say.”

“And such men,” Miss Little asks, unable to stop herself, “they take the part of a woman?”

“Yes.”

“Then … there must be such men as would be pleased to treat them as such.”

“Hmm,” Miss Jopson hums, surprised. “I suppose I’d never thought of that.”

A silence falls, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the mantlepiece. Outside, grey skies block out the sun. It is cold, for May. _Mister_ Jopson. A gentleman. Come a-courting … for a woman, or …

“If there are such men as would be treated like a woman – do you think there are such women who would be treated as a man?”

Miss Jopson looks away.

“… You are teasing me.”

“No – I only meant …” But Miss Little does not know what she meant. Thoughts flurry, too quick for her to catch. Miss Jopson. Mister Jopson. A sailor, a youth. No more sewing. _You know how they speak about such men_.

“I’m sorry, Miss Little,” Miss Jopson says, shaking her head. There is a faint pink blush making its way up her cheeks. “I know you do not care to tease. I should not have accused you.”

“It’s all right. I didn’t think – I had quite forgotten how our conversation began. I feel as if we are talking in circles.”

“A spiral, perhaps.”

“Then there is a centre? We might eventually come to a point.”

“We might indeed. Some secret. A brand new idea, some … never-before-understood concept – like learned men hunched over microscopes.”

Miss Little laughs. Now she pictures herself, in spectacles.

“If there are such men …” she begins again, and the mood sombres once more. “Then there may be such women, as would …”

“Would wish to work?” Miss Jopson interrupts her abruptly. “To extend their horizons beyond motherhood and wifeliness? That I think I already know. I think I may be one.”

“No, I mean – such women, as would seek out the … the company, of other women. In a way which was … similar to the way a man might seek a woman’s company.”

“Oh.”

Miss Jopson’s sewing lies forgotten.

Miss Little’s face is turned downwards. She looks at Miss Jopson’s hands and waits. No mark upon her face reveals her fear, she is sure of that. Sure of her own self-control. In a woman, they call it modesty, in a man; a stiff upper lip. Miss Little knows herself to be a woman. Or has known it. Now she seems to be on the verge of some strange, impossible new idea.

“I suppose … it is quite possible. Indeed, I only thought …”

“Yes?”

“The idea had occurred to me. I merely thought not to raise it by you. I imagined you would be upset by it.”

“Why?”

Miss Little’s heart thrums in her chest, a drum trapped in her left side, like a bullet firing again and again.

“I don’t know,” Miss Jopson admits. “You might have feared that I was one of that sort …”

“Feared?”

Miss Jopson holds herself as still as Miss Little.

“Why wouldn’t you? A woman who acted as a man … that would make her as dangerous as one. Men alone with women take liberties. Or so it is said.”

“People seem to say many things around you.”

“It is the skill of a servant to never be noticed, I’ll admit,” Miss Jopson smiles, trying to break the tension.

“But you are no longer.”

“No. Some things one cannot forget, however.”

Miss Little feels the question take form this time. The words she says, she chooses.

“And you … you are not one of that sort?”

Miss Jopson seems frozen. Her voice is soft, quite delicate, when she speaks.

“If I were?”

“You would be a rarity indeed,” Miss Little whispers, “but … not so rare as … as they say.”

Miss Jopson’s finger twitches.

“Now _you_ speak of what they say, Miss Little.”

“I never stop thinking of what others might say about me.” A confession. “I told you – I am frightened of everything.”

“I think you are braver than you think.”

Miss Little snorts. Quite unladylike, a terrible sound. Her mother would have her head for it. _Mister_ Jopson.

Mister Little.

“Back to teasing.”

“I never tease you, Miss Little. No more so than you enjoy. I thought you knew me well enough by now to tell.”

“I do. At least, I think … yes, I know you.”

“Then –”

“Yes?”

Miss Jopson turns her face, finally, towards her. There is a challenge in her eyes, blue like sea, but as strong as steel.

“Know me.”

It is an order. The image of Miss Jopson the sailor shifts, and she is a lieutenant in Miss Little’s mind, her superior officer. _Know me_. To know is not only to understand. To know is to –

Miss Little obeys the order.

(And when she kisses Miss Jopson, she is no longer afraid.)

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr.](https://gallantrejoinder.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Are they trans? Are they lesbians? Lmk what you thought because I have NO idea.


End file.
